


Uthaan - Endless

by Llynnyia



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Biting, Chase Sex, Dirty Elvhen, F/M, Fade Sex, Forced Orgasm, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, May The Dread Wolf Take You, Multiple Orgasms, NSFW, Oral Sex, Post-Trespasser, Rough Sex, Seduction, Strip Tease, Vaginal Sex, sex under the stars, solavellan hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llynnyia/pseuds/Llynnyia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks post her trial and the events in Orlais, Elystaa Lavellan despite the loss of the inquisition still resides in Skyhold. However her dreams are disturbed and her days are haunted by thoughts of the past and a future that was never to be. Perhaps its time her friends step in help her learn there is a tomorrow? But first she has to confront her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Theneras ~ a waking dream.

 

 

**Chapter 1 Theneras ~ a waking dream.**

 

 

The bare skin of her neck pebbled pleasantly as a pair of familiar lips slowly grazed their way up the elegant curve to the lobe of her sensitive ear. Elystaa hummed, content at each application of his plump mouth. She arched her neck to the side, giving him more space to feast at the moonlit drenched column. The open endless sky above them reflected in her shimmering eyes before they drifted closed in the simple pleasure. They stood together utterly still but for the timeless sway of their bodies.

The contrasting silver bells and beads that cascaded throughout the many tiny braids that adorned his mane chimed as he dipped his head forward, suddenly captured the corner of her mouth an almost chaste kiss. The lingering quality of its pressure and the slight lick at the end that caused her to giggle, ensuring the impropriety of it remained. Her joy was delightful in its infectiousness. It pulled a dark chuckle from him that promised of racing hearts, sweat, and orgasms that rang in ones pointed ears.

His long, ink-stained hands glided over her hips on the outside of the simple but tiered robes she wore in a loving caress. Each silk layer whisper thin. Gossamer enough that when his nimble digits reached the line where her smalls should have been easily felt though the garments, he groaned against her well-laved flesh. He ground his forehead into the loose hair at her temple at finding them missing.

“Ma’Asha. Mar rodhe’el ir’on. Ma’sa’lath. Avy esaya gera assan i’ara av’ingala.” The phonetics blended together lyrically as he sped through them in his growing, obvious passion. A growl escaped him before his teeth closed on the skin of her neck and his arms tightened nearly painfully around her. A sharp cry and a needy whimper cut through the darkness but he didn’t move to claim her or push her away. Her arms trapped by his, all she could do was press the pads of her fingertips to the bare skin of his arms, her cage. As if her touch were a key, his grip became lax and his jaw removed itself suddenly from the over-sensitized flesh of her neck.  
(‘My woman. You taste so good. My only love. I am such a fool.’)

A whine started somewhere inside her chest as Elystaa felt him begin to pull away, a kiss, a bite and already she felt fever hot. But, the hesitation stilled her fluttering fingertips before they could begin a teasing path along his inner arm. Her breath raged in her breast demanding deep smooth lungsful of air to sooth as she dropped her head back onto his taller shoulder to stare up at the stars.

“Dirth ma isalal’em nada.” She breathed the words out, her voice still deepened in lust but determined to abide by his desire.  
(‘Tell me you do not want me.’)

Mi’nas’sal’inan, Ir abelas, Vhenan. Avy rya banalasemah.”  
(‘I feel the knife once more within my soul as I know I cannot have you back again. I am sorry, my heart. I must exile myself but...’)

His hot breath made the small hairs at the back of her neck stand on end in excitement. His words too fast, and tone too deep for her to make out the exact translation but the sound alone made her clench deep inside. Her body melted as the expressive elvhen’an washed through her and she found herself become ever more pliant in his hands. It was far too easy to become distracted by just the scent of him alone as she inhaled and it wrapped around her mind. A balmy sweetly perfumed wind rustled the knee high grasses, adding to the symphony her senses were treated to. It pulled her robes across the puckered buds that tipped her breasts. The silky texture slipping over her skin sparked a warmth that began to gather heavily between her legs. She squirmed in his loosened arms as the heat spread rapidly through her veins, alighting her body with a lust she knew only he could quench.

“Telharthan. Sathan dirtha felas’el. Abelas? Ahnsul ma’vhenan?”  
(‘I don’t understand, please speak slower. Sorry? What for my love?’)

Garas, aman ara'mis, Ma’haurasha. He murmured as he pulled her hips back firmly against his own.  
(‘Come to me, I shall sheathe my blade within you, *2It weeps for you, it is so hard.’)

Only the large palms of his hands on the rounded curves of her hips held her to him now. Fen’Harel spun her around to face him, dragging his mouth to Elystaa’s roughly. Though her passion was burning brightly as his own, she poured forth all the love she held for him in this kiss. She drowned him in years of longing and tenderness. In need and acceptance. Her lips slid over his slowly and deliberately with both her hands cradling his proud jaw. Her tongue stole alongside his. Elystaa fought to overwhelm him with the heat and pressure of her mouth, just as his presence alone did to her. She attacked Solas’ senses with the taste of her. The slide of her tongue beside his. The roughened drag of her taste-buds along the roof of his mouth sent a sensation of memory through her. The first time Solas had done it to her Elystaa had been completely undone. She hoped for no less.

She wanted him to burn as she did and Elystaa knew The Dread Wolf’s weakness. She slid her hand teasingly from his jaw, across the sea of stubble at the sides of his head where he kept his long hair shaved and sunk them deep into the copper flecked tresses. Each auburn braid was a minute silken rope in her fingers as she stirred them at the base of his neck. Elystaa felt almost a feral wildness sweep through her at what she was about to do and had to fight to keep the grin from ruining the perfectly distracting assault she was making at his mouth.

Fingers knotted in his hair. She abruptly wrenched his head down the needed foot for her to take the very tip of his ear between her teeth. Elystaa bit down just enough to make Solas keen.

‘Take the dread wolf by the ear was the best advice my keeper ever gave me.’ She thought as she ripped herself away from his warmth and took two playful hopping steps out of his reach. Mischief danced in her eyes as she waited to see what he would do, her weight balanced lightly on the balls of her feet.

“Asha!” the growl erupted from him, his shoulders and chest rising sharply. A lust filled snarl and he bared his teeth at her, making him look even more wolfish than his name ever implied.  
(‘woman!’)

“Isalan alas’nira aron fen’en,Vyn alas’niremah I’em?” She shot back as she dropped the shimmering girdle that held her robes together into the high grass. The grass under her heel crunched as Elystaa took a step backwards never letting her eyes stray from his. The air took on an electric charge as she bent her arms this way and that to remove a single diaphanous layer of silken robe, then tossed it to the side with another challenging step away from him. Her hips and shoulders swayed as another layer was thrown in the opposite direction. She was too far away but she imagined his eyes blown wide and dark as he watched her. Fingers grazed the open edges of the final sheer inner layer before it too was cast off but this time not to the side but at him in a direct confident challenge.  
(‘I lust to dance as the wolves do. Will you be dancing with me?’)

The dirt that she dug her toes into as she spun was cool under foot. The wind was crisp despite the heated night. It streamed her long black hair away from her body as she sprinted in the opposite direction of The Dread Wolf. His loud growl sent a surge of speed to her legs as she stretched them out further before her. The open field called to her and she ran. Her body was made for this, long limbed and fleet. She stole through the night and her laughter echoed back to her. The adrenaline that flooded her body interspersed itself through the cloud of lust enveloping her, Elystaa’s chest opened up and she began to breathe in stride. Each time the balls of her feet found traction on earth or sweet grass she resisted the urge to tremble as the hunter had become the hunted.

Elystaa’s heartbeat, a steady cadence as she sprinted, pushed her body to its limits. The muscles, well trained for sending arrows flinging through the air, took the brunt of her flight. Her tendons snapping perfectly like whipcords, guided each movement. The knowledge that The Dread Wolf had her scent and would eventually catch her urged her to make the chase a good one because once he caught her… he would devour her.  
It was inevitable.  
A surety once Elystaa placed her foot upon the path she was now on.

The silence from her hunter had Elystaa’s mouth run dry. She strained to hear even a single footfall in pursuit. The field she ran in felt endless as the sky above and as silent. The tall grasses deliciously flogged her naked flesh with their flowering tips as she twisted and stole a glace behind her.

Her breath came in small puffs as she slowed to take in the sight of the empty field behind her. She swallowed hard as she realized she had lost sight of the wolf and came to a slow stop, turning around fully to search the horizon for the tale-tell marks of crushed grasses. Her bare breasts jiggled against her chest as she gulped air to catch her breath. The only trail that met her eyes was her own and a frown marred her brow as she gradually took a step backwards.

‘What does this wolf have planned?’ She pondered, peering both left and right as she read the land for clues.

The long tips of Elystaa’s hair tickled the back of her thighs as she took another step back intending to turn but found herself once again encaged in Fen’harel’s strong arms. A shriek of surprise absconded from her as he tightened them around her so Elystaa could not flee him again. His muscles honed over thousands of years of military and magical practice, each a perfect sculpture of flesh. Solas’s body behind her warm, hard, but not hot from a run like hers. He likely used his magic to cheat. But what did she expect, this was his realm, the place where his magic was the most powerful, where Solas could change reality with less than a thought.

“Ma’ fan’ea ina'lan'ehn.” His cool breath glided over her hot skin and cooled it with a tingling wave of magic. “Isalan dera na aron tuelan.”  
(‘My beautiful prize.) (I will touch you like a goddess’)

 

Solas’ blue eyes swam and gleamed with emotions and desire as he tilted his head to claim her lips in a branding kiss. Elystaa had no intention of running again and relaxed into his embrace while his mouth crushed into hers. Her lips would be puffy and swollen from this kiss alone, from the force the wolf used to show Elystaa his dominance. Fen’harel’s warm lips pried hers apart and his tongue charged in to conquer her own. Elystaa gladly acquiesce to his demands, to his needs. The more she relaxed into the inferno he was creating inside the gentler he became. With a whimper, he relented his hold on her. Solas slid his palms from around her arms, down her waist to her bottom. His lips never left hers, he palmed each naked cheek in his hands. They breathed heavily through their noses

With a firm grip and a shift in his balance he urged her to wrap her pale legs around his waist. Solas lifted her and made sure to glide her over the straining erection barely contained behind a simple pair of leggings. His robe lay open across his chest left it bare for Elystaa’s fingers to whisper over before she draped her arms around his broad shoulders.

“Solas, ma’fen.” She murmured as Elystaa pulled her lips from his slowly. A deep, needed breath was interrupted as his lips crashed back down onto hers and she began to drown. Her world spun as Solas took them both to the ground and laid them in the tall grasses. His weight pressed down on her. Elystaa shifted and moaned under him as he settled upon her center. Elystaa’s full breasts compressed to the hard wall of his chest. They flattened and ached desperately. All of her begged for him, her very sheath clenched in need. Her inner thighs were painted with the wet of her want.

Solas grin as he slid his fingers closer to the center of her being, to the place that pleaded to be filled by him. He stopped short of the sparse hair that covered her glistening hidden treasures to bring his wet fingertips to his mouth and curled his nimble tongue around the digits. He hummed as he licked them clean.  
(‘My wolf’)

“Solas!” Elystaa moaned as a scream began to build inside her. “Tel’felas! Fen’ Harel!  
(‘Don’t go slow’)  
“Ma’neral.” Fen’harel groaned as he plunged both fingers into her suddenly. They scorched a path inside her tightness. Opening her up and spreading her juices, Solas began to churn his fingers inside her. He probed front wall searching for that spot, the patch of textured nerves that caused her hips began to writhe instantly against him.  
(‘My pleasure.’)

Once Solas found the spot at her loud cry of pleasure, he was relentless. He wrung each sound from Elystaa with confident flicks of his fingers. When she undulated her hips against his ministrations she found her pelvis pinned into position against his body. There was nothing left but to submit. Elystaa rake her hands through Solas’ hair as her god had his way with her. Soon he added another digit within her. He curled all three forward over and over. Eventually his thumb joined to swirl at her clit. It wasn’t but a few moments after this that the added stimulation sent Elystaa screaming over the edge into a dancing night’s sky of bliss.

She floated on a storm of sensations electric and soothing. Elystaa’s insides arched and ached for more and still Solas held her down. She rode out each cry and movement until they subsided.

With his head lovingly on her shoulder, he stroked her body leisurely while the tremors subsided. Lower and lower his damp fingers swayed until they danced over her lightly covered mound, the dark hair thin and sparse. Then with a wolfish grin and what Elystaa felt belatedly as a rune for pleasure glyphed over her mound, Solas quickly place both of her knees over his shoulders and placed his wide tip at her nether-lips, pushing forward. She didn’t recognize the exact spell but she could feel the magic sink into her before he began to and so the dance began. He had prepared her well. Her body made wonderfully wet lewd noises. Their bodies joined with sounds that could only be heard because of the pleasure, his slow entrance stole her voice.

Her body writhed against the fragrantly sweet grasses that made their bower and her hand spasmed in his long tresses as Solas bottomed out inside her. Then he pushed just that little bit further, letting her know he still had more to give and would test the very depths of her tonight. Elystaa squealed in pleasure. Her voice came rushing forth, accompanied by the memories of other long evenings spent in his arms. Solas would tease Elystaa that he held back his manly length to protect her. Not that that was the truth however, it didn’t seem to be the case tonight and she didn’t want it to be. Fen’harel withdrew then surged forward within her once more, with more force. Her body quaked. How Elystaa had missed this, missed him.

She ran her hands over each sweat glistening muscle Elystaa could reach. She worshiped Solas’ body with her fingertips and nails as she had often done with lips and tongue. She wanted to do more and tried to let him know that with a sharp shove of her thighs but that only ended with Solas giving her a devious smirk. A stinging but exciting slap on the ass followed and his strong hands wrapped around each ankle. With a wink, Fen’harel used his beautifully strong body to push Elystaa’s open even farther, her ankles as a fulcrum point. Solas’ thrusts became shallower but the angle made each demanding push into her a pleasure that bordered on pain, Elystaa shuddered in his arms violently. The first time so much so he actually stopped to watch her with a look of surprise and amazement on his face before he immediately did it again.

‘Void take his pride, or not.’ She fought back the pleasure as a challenge to him and he picked it up gladly, as was often the case between them.

She was the hunter that even hunted the wolves in their very den. He would be no different. All her muscles had fine control and she prided herself on that. She silently counted to ten before she began her assault on him to catch him off guard. Ten second while in a battle or making love was nearly an eternity, one she barely endured. Deep breaths and an indomitable will helped.

Finally her turn, she tightened the deepest of her inner muscles, first the ones he was barely even brushing with his crown quickly before he noticed just what type of honey trap she set. Elystaa cascaded the rest of her inner muscles around him. Solas tried to toss his head back and gasp for breath but her hands in his hair kept his face close enough she could watch the battle in his eyes not to …  
‘Fenedhis’…  
He smirked…  
That wasn’t what she planned…

He began to take on a slight glow as Solas called on his magic to aid him, then Elystaa felt the glyph he placed in her whirl to life. She wanted to laugh at herself for assuming that the trickster would play fair but all that would escape her open mouth was a deep groan as her orgasm began to crash over her. Her eyelids slammed shut as powerful waves of colored pleasure ripped through her.

When she came back to herself her legs had been released and he lounged on top of her like a big cat, content to watch its prey. She was so wet she could feel it drip down the round of her ass and in the pose he held her in it was rounded indeed. He pistoled forward and a damp squelch let another flow from her center.

“Irmes manadahlen.” He shook in her arms before he began to plow into her flooded passage the best he could in this position.  
(‘wet forest’*3)

With her body pinned the way it was Elystaa had no leverage to meet his thrusts, but she wanted to. This urgency she felt building in him called to something wild in her. It made her whimper, cry, scream and shriek. She made noises that sounded more at home in the depths of the forest than in the bedroom. The grasses and stars were the perfect bower for them tonight. And those were just the utterances just from her.

When Solas didn’t mutter some obscure elvhen’an that she didn’t know, he growled, grunted, moaned, whimpered but mostly growled. Oh and how it made Elystaa’s insides clench each time. It brought forth another muttered elvhen curse or perhaps endearment. When her volume became too much for both their fine tipped ears Fen’harel’s lips crashed over hers and he swallowed down every little hiccup that bubbled out of her. Then the only sounds were him and the wet slap of their bodies together again and again.

She could feel herself swirling tighter and tighter but she knew the control The Dread Wolf had would last forever if she let him. Remembering the lesson from earlier, she wasn’t about to be greedy and lap up orgasm after orgasm without him. So Elystaa shifted her arms, one she squeezed between them only to return a moment later with a hand laden in her plentiful flowing juices ignoring the arched eyebrow of the amused elf above her. Fen’harel waited to see what trick she would try to pull next. Teeth gleamed as she gave him her own grin and lunged up to catch his with her own roughly. Biting, licking, sucking, drinking down his very essence. Elystaa tried to distract him as the wet hand stole down between his magnificent ass cheeks. Slowly, she first teased then slipped one drenched digit into his puckered hole. Solas groaned in approval. When he relaxed around the smallest intrusion she pushed just a little bit farther in and began to swirl her finger around inside him. Solas moaned against her lips.

The grip on Elystaa’s ankles slackened then slid away so her knees were once more resting on Fen’harel’s shoulders. Once he released her legs he began to get the truly deep thrusts they both now craved. She kept swirling but a little harder now as he too was speeding up within her. She felt he was getting closer. Heat began to build in her once again as he hit the spot inside her deeply with ruthless abandon. She tried to concentrate to keep up a sweet smooth spin with her finger but it was getting harder and harder to continue and not jerk in time to his ravishing’s of her clenching core. The driving length inside her felt more engorged now and she knew he would not last much longer himself.

The lust enthralled Elystaa and all time for flowery words and poetry ended as she began to clench down on him as another climax loomed. The delightful debauchery she felt in that moment was as immense as it was overwhelming. Her finger in his ass, his cock ravaging in and out of her seizing pussy as he took her in the dirt like the wolf she asked him to be. Her last lucid thought was to bring him with her and she yanked his head down farther and bit the tip of his other ear hard hoping the pleasure pain would be enough to rock his ancient control. She could feel him stall then yank her hips to him hard, which dislodged her hand so she wrapped her arms around him tightly. He buried himself and his seed deep into her as he came in hot hard spirts. With them locked together this tightly she could feel each gush of his essence against the entrance to her womb.

They both panted hard and their bodies tingled pleasantly in the aftermath. Solas kissed her with a self-pleased look smeared across his sexually exhausted face as he let them both slowly slide down deeper into the grass. Once they were settled, he rewarded her little stunt with an extra sharp thrust of his still hard cock that sent Elystaa’s neck arching backwards, swiftly he latched onto it with his teeth. The sharp sensation sent her sheath back into the ripples of aftershocks around his sensitive length.

The Crime, The Punishment, crime and punishment again. They both erupted in laughter as he eased her legs down from their lofty perch some time later.

Elystaa smiled sweetly at Solas as he rested his brow against hers.  
She ran a hand through his locks and along his bitten ear carefully to ensure she hadn’t hurt him.  
“Solas…”  
He shook his head at her, knowing her concern even before she voiced it.  
Time stood still as their bodies cooled and their love kept them warm.

Slowly.  
Very slowly.  
Something crept through his eyes.  
The same something that once caused him to run and as it deepened Elystaa knew it was about to again.  
Even with their bodies so intertwined she knew. The pain in her heart grew to bursting as the agony in Solas’ eyes made her aware of the truth.

“Ir abelas, Ely ma’vhenan. It is my weakness not yours that lead us here once more. I should have kept away as I had but you are so beautiful and I … I would make you forget if I could, but what is left of the mark within you will not allow me to.”  
His stormy blue eyes seemed to fill her vision before they began to glow.  
“Forgive me. Wake up.”  
(‘I am sorry Ely my heart.)

 


	2. Lingrean ~ Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Elystaa is in need her friends come together to discuss what could be done to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma'sa'lath Impy~Ultrachicory Emma'ena'vun. ma'serannas, Enaste.

Chapter 2 Lingrean ~ Phoenix

Sparks crackled as the log collapsed in the dimly burning embers of the large fire place. Its brilliance long since burned out and dead. Now the flickering flames barely had enough light to reflect off the highly polished goblet that was raised once again to its owner’s mouth. Only her voice allowed one to determine if she was even female at all. She sat in her tall chair with authority her back to the glowing remnants.

  
“So you’re saying they will only allow her eighty guardsmen? … Well Shit, you know he won’t be happy with this.” The man reached forward with a burly hand to grasp the crystal carafe filled with wine that glittered like the rarest of red rubies. He paused, fingers just grazing the handle as the woman slammed her drink down hard onto the wooden desk between them.

  
“And Ferelden’s only allowed that many because she is the Herald of Andraste! If she was any other elven lady it would be far, far less. However, King Alistair and his lords were so grateful that the Dwarven Shaperate discovered that the land surrounding Skyhold originally belonged to the Dog Lords that they even did such with a smile!”

  
“Well, I wouldn’t call a title like Arl of Skyhold a smile, perhaps a greedy leer?” He intoned as he leaned his stocky body forward his chest hair glinted golden red in the last rays. “So you mentioned you have a mission for me?”

^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~* ^.~*

Little metal markers scattered over the large wooden table in the wake of another thrown breakfast tray. It’s full, unmolested contents tipped over to spill across the Western Approach. The loud, ringing clatter it made while coming to rest garnered the immediate attention of the two who sat huddled around the blazing fireplace in a futile attempt to stave off the winter chill of Skyhold.

  
The large windows in the council chamber did little to keep in the heat. Even with the addition of the heavy woolen drapes Lady Josephine insisted on having installed throughout the Keep, the air was still bitingly cold.

Josephine sent a beseeching look to the captain of the guard as she huddled deeper into her chair.  
With a long, suffering sigh, Cullen Rutherford, The Lion of Honnleath, stood grimacing and pitifully. He wrapped his fur-lined cloak around himself tighter and turned to face his incensed foe. “Lady Mearina. What may we do for you this morning?”

“No more! No more! I will not allow another one of my magnificent meals to be fodders for the pigs swill! SHE wastes it all! I make fine roasts. No. She will not eat! I bake delicate soufflé, SHE will not eat! I create Nugglette Fragua, SHE will not eat! You say she is Dalish, she is homesick, yes? So make her simple home food. I search and search! Finally I find Dalish book of cooking! You say, oh, simple dishes. NO, not simple! However, I do not back down. I make And will she eat? NO! All she eats is tiny cakes and when? In the dark of the night!” The Orlesian head cook paced and flailed her hands as she ranted, her accent slipping deeper and deeper back into her mother language, making it that much harder for the gathered council members to understand her.

  
Finally the wrathful woman paused, taking deep lungfuls of crisp air to calm herself. “I have served Dukes and Duchesses and I will no longer be treated thus! I resign my position here as head cook immediately and expect an escort back to Orlais on the morrow.”

  
With her tight-spun curls bouncing, she flounced out the double large doors and down the corridor, each hard heel of her shoe clacking with force.

“What ladles up her rear? … I mean Orlesian cakes and peasant stews, it all ends up down the jakes anyhow.” The grinning blonde strolled in unannounced. “It’s frigging cold, this. Better be good! Ya?”

  
Like everyone else she was bundled up for winter. Her usual lightweight wear had been replaced with heavy wools and long sleeves. However, the small archer took to an unconventional means to meet the season. She had seemingly gotten her hands on several sheep’s worth of knit and had created a monstrosity of an outfit for herself.  
Her bare legs, as she refused to wear breaches at home, were covered from the knees down in thick, fuzzy, crocheted stocking. Over that she donned a knee-length shift capped with a baggy sweater that had seen better days. Next came her cape that had been slashed at the sides to allow her arms through, leaving the threads to unravel as they may. And to top it all off, an extra-large and long scarf that she currently had draped around her face so to protect as much of her skin from the biting wind as possible.  
Rubbing her hands together she sashayed closer to the fire and leaned against Cullen’s currently unoccupied chair.

With a deep exhale, Lady Montilyet leaned forward and poured a large goblet of spiced wine kept hot by its place on the hearth. Smiling, she offered it to Cullen as he returned to his seat.

  
“I fear I may need more of this after vanquishing that demon!” He cracked as he raised it to take a sip.

“Demon? What, you’re having all the fun without me?” Bull asked as he walked in, claiming a portion of the wall to lean against near the fire. Out of all the inhabitants of Skyhold, The Iron Bull seemed to feel the cold the least, which was strange with him coming from such a warm environment. But as it was, his only acclimation to winter was a heavy cloak, not even a shirt. Much to the amusement of many and the enjoyment of a select few, namely one Dorian Pavus. “You know we could hear that harpy all the way out at the training ring. She has quite a pair of lungs on her!”

“Maker’s Breath.”

“Well I believe it will save us from having to have an announcement at least, but how to fight the damage it will do to the Herald’s reputation. Knowing that she isn’t eating is not a good sign and will be seen as a weakness.” Josie sighed as she first looked to Cullen then to Bull, hoping to see some sort of solution proffered.

“Cakes, at night? I mean, who eats cakes at midnight? And why have none been brought to my chambers, not that I need them.” Dorian’s voice rang in question as he pushed open the door for himself and his companion.

“Well, Sparkler, according to rumor that would be our beloved Ely.” The Dwarf quipped back as he ducked under Dorian’s arm to enter the room first. Spotting the empty chair next to Josie, he sauntered over and dropped himself into its deep cushions.  
Dorian, not far behind his heels, leaned over the ensconced, grinning dwarf to pour himself a goblet of the fine red vintage warmed by the fire.

“So the rumors already are spreading.” Running his hands through his hair, Cullen stated the obvious.

Propped against the chair’s arm, Varric nestled himself in for what could only be a long chat. “Ya Curly, it would be awfully difficult for them not to what with her hiding herself up in that tower like she has for the last two months.”

“She comes out and scares the shite out of the maids at night, she does. Goes down to the rotunda and just stares at those doodles! I followed her once. She don’t cry, she just sits there and stares. Like some ghost or something.” Sera shivered with this and dragged her cape tighter about her thin, elven frame.

Silence reigned as the assembled heroes tried to think of a way they could each help their wounded friend. They’d watched her suffer for weeks with no end to her misery in sight. Their once brilliantly shining star, their beloved Herald, had seemingly lost all the light she’d once bestowed upon the Inquisition.

“You know I could always take the boss out with the Chargers and do some dragon hunting. That always cheers me me up!” Bull scoffed, absentmindedly scratching the long, half-healed burn along his arm that he affectionately called ‘an Atashi kiss’.

Josephine gasped, her hand jumped to cover her open mouth. “No, definitely not! In her state she will get herself killed!”

“I hate to mention it, but I have seen this before. Archers who have lost arms, when I was with the Templars, they’d just walk into the enemy lines-”

“Wha? That’s daft that is!” Sara Interrupted

“I think that’s the reason we are all here Buttercup….Hmm, but we aren't all here are we? Where is the Seeker?” Varric asked, peering around the dim room uselessly .

Delicate raven brows drew together as Josephine attempted not to smile. Cullen began rubbing the back of his neck as he grinned. “Well, you see, we draw lots every week when it is time to decide who will wait at the gate for the message rider.”

“No… ah shit Curly … I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” Varric jeered at the tall blond commander.

If teasing was to be involved, a certain handsome Tevinter would not be left out! “And, pray tell me, how long have you left our delectable warrior woman out in that icy tundra?”

It was no doubt inevitable that his words would summon the leader of the Seeker force that still resided under Elystaa’s command after refusing to return to the Chantry as underlings. Rather they were to be more like the Seekers of Truth of old, an independent almost mercenary-like guild. However, as of now their numbers were far too few and the power they held even less so they still sought to shield themselves under the banner of one they trusted implicitly.

The large wooden chamber door resounded as it banged against the Counsel Hall’s outer wall. A small pile of snow and slush dropped from The tall, lean, cloaked figure who stormed through slammed the door behind them.

Everyone in the room held their breath, expecting a trademark temper tantrum from the Seeker. Even Iron Bull dared not move. He himself had been on the losing end of one of those far too many times.

“Cassandra?” Cullen queried as he took a hesitant step forward, unsure if his help was wanted as she seemed to struggle with her cloak clasp.

With a low tutting noise, Dorian stood. Taking slow, sauntering steps to the aid of his struggling friend whose frozen fingers were carefully brushed aside by his own warm dusky ones, he unhooked the troublesome clip.

The inhabitants of the room breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the closely knit friends tend to the other. They began to drift off into smaller groups to discuss ideas while Dorian saw to the attentive care of Cassandra.

Quickly he removed her sodden attire, letting it drop as it may on the flagstones at his feet before guiding her to the seat that he had so recently vacated.

Her teeth chattered loudly against the metal rim he pressed against her lips, eager to get the warm liquid into her cold body. Once her trembling ceased, it seemed her wits returned to her all at once. Her head snapped sharply to the right, boring dagger like holes into the back of Cullen and Josephine’s heads as they quietly chatted a few feet away.

“Three candle marks! and Dorian … stop referring to me as edible. If you wish to wake with your mustache tomorrow.”

“Speaking of tomorrow. Love, you know it is Wednesday, right?”

“Ugh! Do not remind me. At least The Herald will come out of her rooms and the people will see once again she still lives.”

Closing her eyes Cassandra handed her half full goblet blindly to Dorian and raised both hands to rub her aching eyes.

“Josephine, I am almost afraid to ask, but what is on the docket for her to judge tomorrow?” The last word out of her mouth nearly ended on a whimper.

Varric tilted his head up from the notes he had been accumulating near the hearthside at the sound. “You okay Seeker?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking Varric, I am merely tired. It has been a long day and tomorrow promises to be even longer.”

Having collected her clipboard, Josephine returned to the now regrouping team huddled around the fireplace.

“It seem like we have four judgments needing rendering this week, A duo of accused thieves, wage garnishment against a noble who resides in New Haven, and … oh my… a man accused of … Cullen I cannot … please will you read the report to them?” Josephine hastily handed over the tablet, its candle wavered in the quick movement.

Cullen turned red as his body stiffened in anger as his eyes skimmed the page before him.

“Yes, Captian Rylan brought this fellow in several days ago, he was caught in the act. So guilt is not in question. it should go quickly.” Cullens voice dropped an octave as he riffled down to the actual report and began to read.  
“Justin Diskin, occupation artificer, age 23, was found on Friday the 4th of Wintermarch 9:42 Dragon. Engaging in intercourse with a semi conscious 12 year old girl child. She had a slight bruise on her head and welts on her rear. The girl child is his stepdaughter, his defense when question was he was punishing her for bad behaviour.”  
The downright ill and slightly nauseous looks that were shared around the room calmed unsettled nerves and a long gulp of the mulled wine further soothed wired emotions.

“Well piss! That will sure wake her up!” Sera’s muffled voice came out from between the layers of her scarf.

“Little spitfire you sometime know exactly what to say!” Iron Bull roared with laughter

As the noise died down and they each ruminate on the event to take place tomorrow. Varric looked up slowly at Sera, a sly look in his eyes.  
“You know, Buttercup, you might just be onto something. I mean think about what’s the only thing she has done since Chuckles left?”  
“Playing Cole?” The blonde Archer asked spiritedly.

“Sigh?” The one time Templar guessed when Varric’s brown eyes pinned him in place awaiting an answer.

“Piss off the next Chef?” Dorian quipped glibly without invitation, as was his want.

“Mope about her little tower like some gilded princess from a long ago tale.” The last being curiously added by Cassandra.

Lastly the writer looked longingly over his shoulder at the ex-ben-hassrath lounging against the wall.  
“Justice.”

**Author's Note:**

> All Elvhen is aproximations


End file.
